


You're Your Own Worst Enemy

by MissMoochy



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics)
Genre: Aged-Up Peter Parker, Deadpool Thought Boxes, Deadpool being Deadpool, Insecure Wade Wilson, M/M, Misunderstandings, Protectiveness, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:15:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24174208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoochy/pseuds/MissMoochy
Summary: Deadpool hasn’t seemed to realise that his two good friends, Spider-man and Peter Parker are the same guy. Even worse, he’s growing increasingly suspicious of the bruises on Peter’s face and is convinced he’s in an abusive relationship. With Spider-man.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 41
Kudos: 310





	1. Fancy Meeting You Here

Peter was going to die if he couldn’t get a coffee in the next ten minutes.

It was 12:15pm, and the sun was beating down. He was running some errands, but he still felt frazzled from the night before. Between studying, patrolling and the occasional side gigs for Tony Stark, he sometimes felt like he was running on empty. He certainly felt that way now, shuffling through the busy crowd, each scuffed sneaker dragging on the sidewalk, too sluggish to lift his foot fully off the ground. 

He should have gone to bed earlier, but you know, crime never sleeps and all that. Whatever. Once he had drunk his weight in coffee, hopefully, he’d perk up and stop feeling like a slug somebody had stepped on.

He traipsed into a nearby shopping centre that he knew contained a Starbucks on the ground floor and awesome, there were only a couple of customers waiting. He got in line, his head filling with the pleasant aromas of cocoa beans and hazelnut, and settled into a stupor.

Somebody stood behind him, and he paid them no mind until he heard a familiar voice.

“No, I’m not getting you anything, Yellow, you can’t even drink! What? Because you lack corporeal form, dumbo!”

Peter grinned, feeling a sudden warmth in his chest that wasn’t unlike a big gulp of coffee. Deadpool. The erratic, motormouth mercenary who had following Spider-man around for the last six months. At first, Peter had been wary, concerned this was a really inept bad guy trying to intimidate him but there was something about DP’s irrepressible enthusiasm and constant stream of jokes that had put him at ease. Deadpool had accompanied Peter on a few busts, they’d most recently stopped a bank robber, and had ended the night talking about whatever random shit entered their heads, on a publishing company’s glass roof, watching the traffic in the night. It had been nice. He hadn’t realised how fun it could be, having a (well, not a partner in crime) buddy along on his patrols, to crack wise with and lend a hand. And his first assumption about Deadpool had been very wrong. Deadpool wasn’t inept, if anything, he was scarily capable. All the chatter and flirtatious jokes hid steely nerves and ruthless efficiency. Deadpool was the kind of guy who’d joke about motorboating your pecs while throwing a knife in a druglord’s eye at twenty paces. Peter had had an “I’m an upstanding citizen and you’re a killer in red leather” talk with Deadpool shortly after they’d started collaborating, and had made Deadpool promise not to kill people in his presence unless it was unavoidable.

He wasn’t so naive that he would think Deadpool would give up on killing for him, point-blank. But true to his word, Deadpool had stuck to non-fatal ways of detaining a criminal, while Peter stuck to the old webbing them to the wall.

Deadpool was still talking to himself (or his voices but it was the same thing, in Peter’s opinion) but the topic had changed.

“Mmmhmm, absolute ten out of ten. Okay, no, the perfect score is reserved for a certain super dude but yeah, that’s easily a solid nine, nine and a half. That’s a butt that won’t quit.”

Peter felt the tell-tale bloom of heat rush to his face and waited for it to abate until he felt ready to turn around and address his admirer.

“Were you checking me out?”

Somehow, even wearing an opaque red and black mask, Deadpool managed to have a guilty expression. “Uh. No. Never. I’m a Christian. I’d never do something like that.”

A Christian? He tried not to laugh. Was Deadpool...shy? He was never like this when Peter was suited up. Normally he’d be like “ _ Yeah, I was looking at it but in my defence, it was looking at me,” _ or something. But then, Deadpool must think he was talking to a stranger. The spider suit had a way of making Peter look a bit more filled out, in terms of muscles and the voice changer that Mr. Stark had added to it, a few months ago, made a world of difference.

“You? A Christian? You’re wearing a leather jumpsuit with knives strapped to your back. What kind of Christian wears weaponry?”

“Um, the Salvation Army? Arrgh, okay, I was checking you out, but I’m not a creep, I swear! Look, how about I pay for your order, kind of like...compensation?”

He would have said no, but he knew DP was loaded, so instead, he shrugged. “Okay, you got it. Black coffee for me, thanks.”

* * *

Deadpool sidled up to him, so they could order together and shoot, he never looked this tall when they were on the rooftops. Maybe it was the artificial lighting or the fact that Peter wasn’t wearing his suit, but he felt child-sized, compared to his friend. It didn’t help that his t-shirt was a couple sizes too big and was hanging around his thighs instead of his waist. He put it on this morning because it was comfy and breathable cotton but now he felt like a kid wearing his dad’s clothes. And that Deadpool was his dad.

The other customers had been served, so Deadpool was placing their orders, fidgeting with a pink Hello Kitty purse. Their drinks were made quickly, and Deadpool collected them.

Deadpool insisted on carrying both to the bar that held the sugars and napkins, so Peter awkwardly followed him, carrying nothing. When he reached him, Deadpool was loading up his frappucino with so many sugar sachets that Peter lost count.

“Your drink’s frozen, you know the sugar won’t melt, right?” he said and Deadpool nodded.

“I like it like this, the sugar crunches on my teeth,”

“You’re going to lose all your teeth to gingivitis,”

“No teeth? Wow, a blow job from me will feel like _ Heaven, _ ”

Peter chuckled and lifted his cup to his lips, but paused, seeing the name scrawled on the side. “I didn’t hear them call out your name. Wade. Is that your name?”

“If I was going to pick a fake name, don’t you think I’d pick a more exciting name than Wade?” Deadpool said, and Peter knew he was rolling his eyes behind his mask.

“Nice to meet you, Wade. I’m Peter Parker,”

“Aw, like the rabbit! Cute. Nice to meet you too, Peter, I’m Wade Wilson. Oh hey, we both got alliteration names!”

* * *

This was fun, this little back-and-forth. Normally, they didn’t have much of an opportunity to talk when they were kicking ass and taking names, and afterwards, they’d occasionally chat for a few minutes but there was still that sense of urgency. When on patrol, Peter’s spider-sense was turned up to a million and he couldn’t drop his guard, not for Deadpool, not for anyone. And more than that, he approached his ‘civilian’ life very different to Deadpool’s, Here was Wade, telling him his full name while still in superhero gear, within ten minutes of meeting. But to Peter, his secret identity was his most precious secret. Peter’s friends and Spider-man’s allies could never meet. Peter Parker had friends and family who were, ultimately, liabilities that could be exploited by the wrong party. Spider-man had no one because he couldn’t afford to have anyone. It was too dangerous. So for that reason, Peter couldn’t let Wade know his true self. Even if he genuinely believed that Wade (and Deadpool) meant him no harm.

“So, why the costume, Wade? Are you a cosplayer for some obscure manga character I’ve never heard of?”

“No way, baby! I’m Deadpool! Mercenary for hire, vigilante, dark, troubled soul. By night, I’m a smooth-talking antihero, cursed with superhuman abilities, seeking vengeance and righting wrongs. By day, I’m just a mild-mannered dude who kills people for money,”   
  


Peter raised his eyebrows.

“Shit, he thinks I’m nuts. I’m sorry. You’re beautiful and I’m a bimbo and all the blood has rushed from my brain to my...anyway, can we start over?”

“Hey, it’s fine, I meet a lot of eccentric people in my line of work. I’m a photographer for  _ The Daily Bugle, _ ”

“Oh, that’s the paper that publishes all those pics of the bootylicious Spider-man, right? Hey!” Wade swatted him on the arm and Peter could feel how much effort his friend had put into slowing down the motion so he didn’t give him his full force. It was unnecessary but appreciated. “You guys say such horrible stuff about him, what’s up with that?”

“It’s my boss who writes that crap, I just take the photos,”

“Oh, so you’ve met Spidey? Aw, he’s a dreamboat, isn’t he? He works so hard. How do you get so close to him? I feel like if I even _ sneeze _ in his direction, he takes off running on his sexy little legs.”

“I can be sneaky. No offence, but can we talk about something other than Spider-man? Sorry, it’s just, it feels like work talk to me,”

“Oh sure, no problemo. What are you doing right now? Besides proving to me that angels exist and they’re caffeine addicts,”

“I have some chores to do, returning a shirt that doesn’t fit, got to buy some groceries,”

“Ooh sir! Sir!” Wade stretched his arm towards the ceiling like he was an overzealous student. “I’ll go with you! I can carry stuff and intimidate the staff at Baby Gap if they won’t honour your refund.”

“I don’t shop at Baby Gap,” Peter muttered but he knew when he was beaten. “Okay, you can come!”

It was only when Deadpool was happily trotting behind him that Peter realised the merc hadn’t taken a single sip of his frappucino and in fact, he'd left it behind. He couldn’t seriously be so paranoid that he wouldn’t lift his mask an inch to fit the straw in his mouth?


	2. Shopping With The Merc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Wade buy groceries.

There were advantages to having a six-foot-two muscle-bound mercenary accompany you on your shopping trip. The warm weather had brought out shoppers and just people enjoying the sunshine and everywhere Peter tried to walk, it seemed that there was already a body occupying that space. In these kinds of situations, Peter would rely on his supernatural reflexes to dodge swinging shopping bags and sharp elbows. His height and slim build made him look unassuming which was a plus when you were a superhero but not so great when you were trying to get through a crowd. But Wade had a way of cutting through the throng, taking long, effortless strides, his bulk clearing a path that Peter was happy to follow. He scurried behind him, keeping his eyes fixed on Wade’s broad shoulders and thick neck so he didn’t lose sight of him.

* * *

Returning the shirt was no problem, and Peter listlessly flipped through a few hangers worth of clothes, looking for anything marked with a discounted sticker. He was starting to look like a hobo, his sneakers scuffed with frayed laces, his t-shirts faded. But everything was so expensive, living on his own. He’d moved out of Aunt May’s and whenever she’d send him money, he’d send it back to her on principle. He knew she didn’t have much cash either and it felt wrong to accept money from her. But moving out was the right decision. It was getting harder keeping his secret from her and all he needed would be for one baddie to follow him home and then May would be in grave danger. He still visited her for meals now and then, and they talked on the phone.

“You’d look good in this,” Wade commented and Peter turned to look at his offering. He smothered a laugh.

“A muscle back top, seriously? What, I’m gonna wear that when I’m pumping iron and tearing phone books in half?”

“I’m impressed a kid like you knows what a phonebook is. How old are you, anyway?”

“Twenty-one,”

“D’aww. What’s wrong, you don’t wear tanks?”

“Let’s just say I don’t have the physique for them,” It was true. A plain white shirt would make Peter’s pale skin look even more washed-out and the tank top, while an appropriate length for someone like Deadpool, would look more like a dress on Peter. He tried to imagine Deadpool, no, _Wade,_ wearing it. He had no idea what his skin tone was like, but he imagined he was more tanned than Peter, everybody was. At least he didn’t have to imagine what Wade’s build was like, his muscles pushed against every fibre of his suit. The tank was low-cut, the neckline would probably fall towards the end of Wade’s sternum. The tops of his pectorals would be exposed, his arms, underarms, neck would be bare. Damn the heat, the store’s air-con wasn’t strong enough to beat the sun shining through the shop windows. That’s what he told himself, anyway, tugging at his collar.

* * *

“So, what’s next?” Wade asked and his enthusiasm was infectious. He was so pleased to be spending time with Peter, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. Hurrying after Peter through the stores. It was nice to have somebody enjoy his company, everybody wanted a selfie with Spider-man or to be rescued by him, not everybody wanted to hang out with Peter Parker. Wade even made grocery shopping fun, attempting (and failing) at juggling with oranges as Peter shopped, or grabbing a cucumber and asking Peter what Wade had in common with it.

Peter was using a basket but Wade grabbed a trolley and rode it around like a scooter, one foot on the floor to push himself along. Peter assumed he was buying stuff for himself because Wade was filling his trolley with loads of things: shampoo, waffles, twinkies, fabric softener. When they reached the tills, Peter went first, blushing horribly as he picked out small change from his wallet and coupons Aunt May had sent him. He had to be so careful with budgeting, it was lucky he’d never been one for extravagant tastes. His shopping only took up one carrier bag, whereas Wade’s would fill several.

He waited outside the store for Wade, until that familiar red and black figure strode up to him, now carrying bags of shopping. It didn’t seem to slow him down, and again, Peter was reminded of how strong he was. He wasn’t sure about the extent of Wade’s powers, he knew the guy could walk off a broken leg in fifteen minutes but he didn’t actually know if his bodily strength was from the gym or a supernatural cause. 

“Did you get everything you needed?” Peter asked him.

“Yeah, although they were out of tortillas. So, are you finished for the day?”

“Uh-huh, I gotta take this stuff home,”

Without warning, Wade snatched Peter’s bag off him. “I’ll carry this, m’lady,”

“Okay, don’t ever call me your lady again and no, I’m not going to make you carry my shopping, Wade!”

“But I came with you so I could help you! Come on, I want you to load me up. Like a donkey. Unleash your big load on this ass,”

“ _Wade…_ ”

“An ass is an old-timey donkey,”

“I _know_ an ass is a - ugh, fine, carry it all if you want to. Don’t blame me when you can’t walk the next day,” 

Wade muttered something about knowing another activity that could impair one’s ability to walk but he accepted the rest of Peter’s shopping without comment.

As Peter walked ahead, Wade following him with arms full of bags, he realised, with a jolt, that he was taking Wade home. Not _taking him home_ taking him home but still. This was a first. Was Wade going to hand him the bags at his front door or insist on coming inside? Peter giggled, knowing the pun that would surely follow if he’d said that out loud.

* * *

By the time they’d walked home, the sun had dimmed a bit and the air was cooler. A breeze sank through Peter’s thin t-shirt and it was nice. He wondered how Wade was faring, head-to-toe in skintight leather. Weird word, skintight. How tight was Wade's outfit, if it was solid leather throughout, Wade would have to peel it off at the end of the day, like it was a second skin. It was probably sticking to him, stuck with sweat. He swallowed, feeling oddly unbalanced for some reason.

“Here we are. My place,” he said, fumbling for the key. He opened the door just enough to dart in, but clearly, Wade wasn’t going to leave the stuff outside, so when the man swept past him with surprising grace for his size, he let him.

Wade bounded through the tiny apartment like a puppy seeing its new home and disappeared into the kitchen. “I like it!” he yelled. “You live by yourself? Ooh, you should get a pet. A dog! No, a chinchilla! No, a horse!”

“But I thought I had an ass,” Peter said drily.

Wade poked his head out of the kitchen. “And it is just _bodacious,_ baby!” The ripping sound of paper told him Wade was unpacking the groceries.

“Hey, are you unpacking my shopping or yours?” Peter asked him, opening up a couple of windows. The sun had been streaming in all day and it was like standing in a greenhouse.

“I don’t have any shopping,” came the reply.

“But...your bags?”

Wade joined him in the living room, throwing himself down the couch with a force that made Peter wince. “Yeah, I got some food for you. I knew you’d say no if I asked you so...enjoy,” He picked up a couple of the _Bugle_ , and began to flip through it.

“No, I can’t, I mean, Wade, I appreciate your - your kindness but a coffee is one thing, I can’t accept a whole week's worth of groceries-”

“Ah, that is one cute Spidey pic, look at him go, is it a bird, is it a plane, no, it’s a twunk!”

“I think you should take it all back, or use it yourself-”

“Mm, nice, _powerful_ legs like a sexy frog. How tall do you think he is?” Wade turned the newspaper horizontal, clearly not listening to a word Peter was saying.

“Wade, please, I’m being serious-”

Wade sighed and threw the magazine over his own masked face. “Jeez, can’t you just say ‘Thank you, daddy’ and leave it at that? It’s a few microwave dinners, not a diamond ring. I’ve got more money than you’ve got freckles on your dinky little nose, why shouldn’t I buy a cutie a few meals? I’d only spend it on Hello Kitty merch and the cashiers at Claire’s give me funny looks already!”

Peter rubbed his face awkwardly. He’d never been good at accepting gifts. “If I keep the food, will you stop babbling?”

“Only if you say ‘thank you, daddy,’”

“I’m not going to say that. But...thank you, Wade,”

“It’s not daddy but it’ll do. I should get going but this has been fun, Peter,”

“Yeah, same,” And it had been. It had been a while since Peter had company while shopping. It reminded him of visiting the market with May, hearing her haggle with the sellers, shopping in that aimless way where you let yourself get distracted by new sights and smells, just following the crowd with no real direction or worries about where you’re going or when you’ll go home. Now with school and patrolling, that kind of excursion was rare, if not impossible.

* * *

“I’m taking your paper,” Wade told him as Peter walked him to the door. The last thing Peter saw before he closed the front door was Wade’s mask, looking down at him, creased slightly in a way that made him think the man was smiling. Then the door shut and he was alone.

The living room looked small without the bearlike Wade lounging on the couch. Peter sunk into the cushions, getting used to the change from Wade’s chatter to absolute silence. It was crazy, but a small part of him wished that Wade had insisted on staying for dinner. 

But then...it would be evening soon and then night. He should really go patrolling. And if Spider-man should happen to bump into a certain mercenary? No big deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe the response, you've been so lovely! I felt motivated enough to write a new chapter. Uploads won't be daily but they will be regular. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you thought and if you'd like to read more!


End file.
